The Soda Machine
by fairytalemanipulator
Summary: Oneshot. Dean just wants a damn soda. Sam/Dean banter, humor, please read and review!


**Title: The Soda Machine**

**Author: fairytalemanipulator**

**Summary: Oneshot. Dean just wants a damn soda. Sam/Dean banter, humor, please read and review!**

**A/N: This is set in a previous season, take your pick. Hope you enjoy! And please review, I don't get many reviews anymore and it makes me sad. xoxo**

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Dean Winchester was frustrated, to say the least.

His head was pounding, and adrenaline was pumping so fast through his veins that he thought he was going to be sick.

The object of his irritation was mocking him, dancing in front of his vision like a malevolent siren singing her song on the rocks.

"I just want my soda!" Dean was almost to the point of tears, looking alarmingly like a lost child. His lower lip trembled, and he rested his forehead against the soda machine, begging it, pleading with it in his mind to release the Sprite from its chambers.

The soda machine said no.

Then Dean resorted to threats. He banged on the plastic front to no avail: his fist simply bounced back at him, and had he not deflected his own blow he would have ended up with a broken nose.

He attempted to tip the machine towards him, only to hastily set it back when confronted with the realization that it could, quite easily, squish him.

"Think, Dean, come on…"

He paced, wearing a hole in the motel basement's dingy floor. Back and forth, back and forth, hands clasped behind his back and muttering a string of profanities while shooting evil glares at the terrible machine.

"Stealing my money…just wanted a soda…eighty-five cents!"

Then, Dean did something he rarely ever did. Swearing under his breath, he gave up.

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Sam was in a rather comfortable position, chair tipped back on it's two back legs, watching The Price Is Right in his comfortable sweatpants and worn in t-shirt. Imagine his surprise at Bob Barker's voice being drowned out with Dean swinging open their motel room door, complete with it banging on the other side of the wall.

So he did what any other surprised young man would do. He screamed like a little girl and tipped over backwards.

"What the hell, Dean?" Came a voice from next to the bed. Dean could make out one long, lanky leg stuck under the table, and squinted in confusion.

"Sammy? What the hell are you doing on the floor? Making friends with the roaches?"

Sam harrumphed, springing to his feet and almost colliding with the ceiling at the same time. "How about next time you want to scare me half to death you call me ahead of time?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't do that, what if the big bad ringtone made you cry?"

"I don't appreciate the sarcasm."

"You don't appreciate lots of things."

"I thought you went to get a soda?"

Dean fumed, and Sam could have sworn he saw steam coming out his ears. "Friggin' piece of crap ate my money!"

"Did you shake it?"

"Duh."

"So you just left it? Couldn't you have gone down to the front desk and asked for the money back at least?"

"Right, because a crappy ass highway motel is really going to be nice to us like that."

"You have a point. Let me try to get it out,"

"Oh yeah, how you gonna do that, buddy? Reach one of those freakishly long arms up through the slot?"

"If I were you, I'd make a dirty joke about that."

"But you're a little nancy boy so you won't."

Sam grabbed the motel keys, and steered a still-angry Dean back out the door.

"I'm telling you man, this thing is evil, maybe we should take the EMF…"

"It's a SODA machine, Dean, not a possessed thing of doom."

"Whatever."

"I can't believe you couldn't just get it out, usually they end up stuck somewhere near the bottom."

"I even kicked it. See?" Dean stuck out his right foot, showing the scuff marks that were evidence of his threats against the metal contraption.

"Want a gold star for effort?"

"Shut up, I just want the damn soda."

Upon reaching the machine, Sam pressed random buttons, pursing his mouth. "Hmm…"

"Rocket scientist brain overworked?"

"As if."

Sam also attempted to shake it, making it move a bit more than Dean had (he noticed that in a very disgruntled manner). As Dean shifted from foot to foot in an irritated manner, Sam's eyebrows furrowed.

"Got an idea, genius?"

Sam ignored him, preferring instead to squeeze behind the machine with his slender frame, making huffing and puffing noises. Dean looked on in confusion and some amusement, wondering if it was possible for him to get stuck.

Well, then, poor Sammy would be kind of on his own. Because one way or another Dean was getting this soda.

Suddenly, the machine whirred to life, sounding for all purposes like an industrial size refrigerator. The lights on the display started blinking, spelling out the words "Welcome!" in an oddly luminescent font.

Dean's eyebrows shot up as Sam inched his way out from behind the machine. "How did you do that? I tried everything!"

Sam rolled his eyes, brushing leftover dust off his shirt.

"I plugged it in."

**The end.**

**Please review!!!**


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